


Blind Faith

by bamby0304



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blindfolds, Dry Humping, F/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 00:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamby0304/pseuds/bamby0304
Summary: Dean Winchester is the definition of sex appeal. You are a prime example of sexual frustration. Mix two and two together, and you get a night neither one of you will forget.





	Blind Faith

**_Warnings_ ** **: Smut. Use of a blindfold. Smut. Oral (female receiving). **Fingering. Smut. The briefest dry(ish) humping.** Unprotected sex (be safe out there, people). Did I forget to mention smut?? And a dash of fluff.**

**Bamby**

Sexual tension. It’s like an elastic band, stretching, pulling, straining against its hold, waiting to snap. It’s like a fog, a mist, an air that floats around, smothering you, suffocating your reasoning. It’s like a pressure, in your chest, your head, everywhere. It’s a heat underneath your skin so deliciously uncomfortable. It’s a state of confusion, one you both love and loath.

The anticipation builds, imagination grows, desire itches at your insides like a starved animal going mad.

Nerves, uncertainty, question. Yes? No? Take the risk and run? Or just run?

Dean Winchester.

If there ever was a sex God, you were sure they would be the mirror image of the oldest Winchester brother. Everything about him screamed, dripped, drowned in sex appeal.

Being a hunter meant you were well aware of the Winchesters. Even before they became known as the greatest hunters that ever lived, you knew them as the two boys ripping the world apart in order to find their father and gank the demon that had killed their mother. But even then, when they were misfits, you never thought you’d be here, right where you were.

The bunker. Old. Vintage. British. Home.

You’d been hunting with the Winchesters for a couple of years, having met them through mutual friends. Things had gone bad and they’d asked for your help. They, the Winchesters, had asked for your help.

Of course you agreed. Of course you jumped right on-board. Since that fateful day, you’d been lost.

Lost in the whirlwind lives of the brothers. Lost in the constant action of cases. Lost in the uncovered lore they revealed to you. Lost in the familiarity of a home. Lost in the comfort of friends. Lost in your feelings for Dean Winchester.

He was a force to be reckoned with. Wild and fierce in a fight, and just as animal with women. A predator that hunted both beasts and beauties.

You watched him night after night. Stumbling out of bar after bar. Ending up in motel after motel. It was always the same. After all these years. He locked onto a target, fired, and scored, leaving her satisfied and satiated by morning.

Never in a million years did you think he would ever look your way.

The case? Vampires. The result? A dead pack, and barely a scratch on any of you. Success.

Driving back to the bunker that same night had been Dean’s idea. Staying up to drink the moment you arrived had also been his idea.

The three of you were gathered around one of the tables in the library, beers sat in the middle of you, some unopened, some emptied. You’d all been there for a while, enjoying the company, relaxing, chatting away. It was nice, comfortable, routine.

Unsurprisingly, Sam hit the hay first. He mumbled his tired goodnights and wandered off into the winding halls, headed for his room. That left you alone with the one and only Dean Winchester.

Banter was easy. Drinks kept flowing. Flirting was inevitable. Confessions were unexpected.

“Why don’t I ever see you with a guy?” he asked, a grin tugging on his lips, wrapping around his beer bottle as he took a drink.

His lips. So plump, full and delicious. The way he would lick at them, pull and tug with his teeth so innocently, unaware of the flooding women surrounding him. The smiles, grins and smirks. He had a fixation, you were sure. His lips were always moving, always busy, always teasing you unknowingly.

Your shrug was somehow a mix of nerves and confidence. “I’m just not interested.”

Running his hand through his hair, he leaned back in his chair. “In guys?”

His hands. Long fingers, rough from hours of working hard on his Baby, toughened by years of hunting. Always grabbing, gripping, reaching for something. Moving so mundanely yet causing a storm of hormones in every woman that bears witness to their magic. Magic. They’re the real Magic Fingers.

His hair. A shade you sometimes can’t quite pick. Dark blond? Sandy brown? Either way, it’s thick, luscious, and always perfect. Whether rolling out of bed, posing as FBI, or drinking in a bar, he always had hair that you wanted to run your fingers through.

“In random guys,” you corrected.

“You gotta get action somewhere. Gotta relieve the tension,” he noted, shrugging in a way that moved his whole body.

His body. Towering and large. Bowed legs and thighs you just want to ride. A full chest lined with muscles you didn’t realise existed. Shoulders so strong, leading to arms so thick they screamed to be squeezed, bitten, clawed.

You took a chance. “I’d rather get it from someone closer to home.”

Your confidence was being backed up by the alcohol swinging on your hormones, and the chance this might actually be it. This might be the moment the elastic band snaps. This might be the moment the fog clears. This might be the moment the heat cools. This might be it.

At first, Dean is oblivious, sipping at his drink once more. But when his eyes meet yours again, the beer bottle now empty and lowering to the table, you could read those eyes perfectly.

His eyes. Green. Emerald, forest, precious and gorgeous. Apple, jade, all the colours of that beautiful shade. So rare and perfectly him. Mischievous, smiling, hard and determined. Every emotion ever created, ever felt, displayed through the pools of his out-of-this-world, unbelievably stunning irises.

Shock, curiosity, surprise, wonder, disbelief. So many swirling feelings in the depths of his green, green eyes.

The moment was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

He didn’t reach for it right away, his gaze still locked onto yours. But the ringing kept going, and going, and going, filling the empty space between you with unwelcome noise.

Sighing, he pulled his phone out and answered the call, “This better be important, Cas.” Not even a second passed before his expression changed. It was important.

Getting up and grabbing a new beer, Dean walked off as he continued the conversation with your angel friend. An angel friend you wanted to rip apart in that moment.

Flustered, frustrated and deflated, you finished your drink before pushing up off your chair and heading to your room, feeling that pull of your inner elastic band stretch even more.

* * *

Days. Weeks. Months.

Tension. Strain. Pressure.

Nothing had come from your confession to Dean. Over the time that had passed between then and now you wondered. Had you said enough? Had you been clear? Did he understand? Did he see you that way? Had you tainted your friendship? Had you made things weird?

So far, he’d acted as if nothing had happened. He appeared oblivious, unaware of the discomfort scratching under your skin, of the screaming inside you. He had no idea there was a need being left unfulfilled you just could not feed.

You’d tried. You’d tried taking a page out of his book. You’d tried hooking up with other people.

At first it was enough. It got you over that edge for a time. They gave you the bare minimum of what you wanted. It was fine. No fireworks or fire. It was just… fine.

But, lately you’d had no luck.

It wasn’t that they weren’t getting you where you needed… it was that you weren’t getting any at all. Every time you started a conversation with a guy something came up and you had to leave them. Sometimes you didn’t even get a chance to talk to someone, instead being left to do hours of research in seedy motels. Sam and Dean had become your full-time cock-blockers.

Not even your own hand was enough anymore. Getting yourself to the sweet spot was easy, pushing yourself over the edge a little harder, finding satisfaction afterwards was impossible.

If you didn’t get what you needed soon you were literally going to combust from sexual frustration.

The case the three of you were on now was easy. A quick salt a burn that took less than a week to take care of. It had required the usual, some FBI getup’s and research into local lore. In the end the thing was ganked, the case closed.

But the guys wanted to stay.

“Just for a couple of days,” Sam promised.

Dean chuckled from where he was sitting on his bed cleaning his guns. “This got something to do with that waitress at the bar last night?” He gave his brother a knowing look.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam warned before he turned back to where you stood in the middle of the room, packed bag hung over your shoulder, ready to go. “Please. Two, three days tops.” When you hesitated, he pressed, “We all need a break, and you know it.”

He wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t stopped hunting for months now. Case after case. Monster after monster. Seedy motel room after seedy motel room.

Truthful, you didn’t want to stay. If you were going to have a break you wanted it to be at home, where you could enjoy a bath and not bear witness to the brothers’ conquests. But one look into Sam’s puppy-dog eyes, and you were a goner.

“Fine,” you groaned. “Two days, that’s it. If you’re not finished by then I’m leaving, with or without either of you.” You turned to glare at Dean as well.

Sam’s face lit up, grateful and pleased. “Thank you so much! I’ll be back in two days. Promise,” he called as he grabbed his jacket and ran out of the room.

Honestly, how could you deprive him of this? Sam didn’t do much better than you when it came to hook-ups. You actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d even flirted with someone. Just because you were flustered didn’t mean you were going to make him suffer, too.

Deep down, under your own frustrations, you were happy for Sam.

“So, just you and me, tonight,” Dean commented.

Sighing, you turned and headed for the other bed, dropping down onto the springy mattress. “Not for long, though. Aren’t you going to the bar?” You pulled out your phone to check the time. “Friday night. Prime time out there right now. Bars just getting crazy. Easy pickings.”

“Maybe I’d rather spend the night with my best friend?” he countered, surprising you.

Sitting up to lean on your elbows, you looked over at him. “Really?”

“Why not? There’s a marathon of _Dr. Sexy MD_ on tonight. You, me, beer and snacks? Sounds like a pretty good Friday night to me.” He shrugged, putting his gun on the bed before getting up. “So, you want a drink?”

* * *

One beer each, five episodes in, and a bowl of popcorn in the middle. You and Dean were on your bed, leaning back into the pile of pillows against the headboard. He was close. Close enough that every time he moved to grab popcorn his shoulder and arm would brush against you. You were flushed, flustered and frustrated.

You were dressed and ready for bed, in a pair of grey cotton shorts and one of the boys’ flannels- which was _huge_ on you. Dean was in a plain shirt and briefs… an outfit that was making your current storm of emotions worse.

Dean was engrossed in the show, allowing himself to indulge in a rare moment where Sam wasn’t around to tease him about his guilty pleasure. You couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the man beside you.

Did you forget to mention you were flushed, flustered and frustrated?

A gentle- and seemingly innocent- brush of skin against skin had you tear your eyes away from the TV before they dropped to your bare thigh.

His hand. Dean’s hand. It rested on your thigh, just above your knee, his thumb stroking and caressing you absentmindedly.

The heat that had been bubbling under your skin travelled to two places. One, where Dean’s hand sat. Two… your panties. You shifted on the spot, trying to ease his hand away discreetly without drawing attention to yourself.

It didn’t work.

As you moved so did Dean’s hand. He slid it higher, mid-thigh, and squeezed. You groaned. Involuntarily, reflexively. Deep and craving.

In the corner of your eye you saw his lips twitch into a grin. But his attention stayed on the TV. He never turned away. He never said a word. He just sat there, watching the show, still caressing your bare thigh.

You sat there, trying to ignore him, trying to focus on anything other than him and his large, rough hand as it squeezed and stroked and invoked sensations in you that fluttered straight to your sweet spot.

Nothing. Nothing could take your mind off his hand. His presences. His essence. It was agonising and delicious all at the same time.

Once the credits started rolling, Dean’s hand left your leg. You let out a relieved sigh and small whimper as he got up off the bed, carrying the popcorn bowl and empty beer bottles,  moving to the kitchen area on the room.

“You okay over there?” he asked, his back facing you.

“Mm-hmm,” you answered with a hum, not trusting your voice.

He chuckled lightly. “Really? ‘Cause you sound a little… tense.” He looked over his shoulder at you, a mischievous glint in those green eyes.

Swallowing thickly, you shifted once more, feeling hot and breathless under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“You can tell me the truth.” Turning to face you a little more, he leaned against the bench. “You can tell me anything. Ask me _anything_.”

_Oh, Chuck…_

“I know, Dean. But I’m fine. I swear,” you insisted, lying. At least your voice didn’t shake as much this time…

Those lips turned up into a smirk. Long bowed legs strolled over to his bag. Hands reached inside, pulling something out you couldn’t see.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his lean back to you once more.

The answer was simple, obvious and honest. “Of course.”

When he turned your eyes landed on the object in his hand. A tie. One of his FBI ties. Silk and seductive all on its own. Dangerous and tempting in his grasp like that.

“Do you trust me?” he repeated, his intentions clear, an exit laid out in front of you just in case you wanted to bail.

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes glued to the tie and the fingers it was wrapped around, mind nowhere near that perfectly outlined exit he politely offered.

His steps were purposeful, strong, and long. He moved in a way that had your insides turn to goo as the anticipation built and built and built. Eyes watching you. Eyes watching him. The air became thick. Breathing became hard.

Standing by the end of your bed, he reached out with a free hand and wrapped his fingers around your ankle. They just sat there at first, brushing and rubbing your skin, enticing those sensations to the place you needed him most. Then, he tugged.

You yelped as you were forced closer to him, a leg on either side of his thighs. Your body fell back against the bed in front of him, unmoving, waiting.

Reaching forward, he offered you that same free hand. You didn’t hesitate before you took it, allowing him to pull you up, this action much more gentler than the one before.

Now sitting up, head raised so your eyes could take in all his perfections, you sucked in a breath as he reached forward once more… this time with the tie in both hands. Your eyes fluttered and shut as the silk wrapped around you head, taking away your sight.

Darkness. Not a hint of light. Nothing. You were left blind.

As a hunter you instinctively started to panic. To freak. To worry. This was not right. This was dangerous. You couldn’t protect yourself. You couldn’t see any threat. You couldn’t see anything at all.

But as you felt yourself begin to fall into that darkness of fear, you felt a presence bring you back.

A breath, a touch, a whisper of lips on yours.

Heat flushed your cheeks, your jaw, your face. You followed Dean as he pulled away, chasing that promise of a kiss, wanting it. Your mind grew foggy, hazy, a scramble of uncontrolled feelings that rose from your need.

Beer, popcorn, the remnants of mint toothpaste, and something else. There were layers to his taste, but there was something unfamiliar that you could only describe as Dean. Dangerous, tempting, delicious and man. All Dean. It was a taste you were sure you were now addicted to. A taste you’d never tire of. A taste you wanted to experience again, and again, and again.

Those same lips ghosted over yours a moment longer before they moved to press against your cheek. Then your jaw. Then below your ear. Then on your neck. A trail that left you breathless and a mess.

Fingers worked on the buttons of the flannel shirt you wore. They popped each one, slowly and teasingly. He slipped the material away at a pace that had it lightly dragging against your skin, invoking more desire and heat.

Chest bare, save your bra, Dean pressed his lips to your collar bone and left another trail of kisses down your body, his tongue peaking out to brush your skin on the way. At the same time, he lowered you until you were flush against the bed once more.

Ghosting hands ran along your body, not touching you. The tiny hairs on your skin rose, reaching out, crying for his touch, begging for it. You could feel where his hands were even when they weren’t touching you… and it was insanely enchanting.

A tug at your shorts had you lifting you hips automatically, allowing Dean to slide them down your legs. He was slowly, dragging his fingers along your thighs before dropping the material to the ground.

On the way back up, his lips returned, pressing gentle kisses to your legs, brushing against your skin, travelling to that oh so delicious spot.

His breath fanned over you, right on the edge of your panties. His nose brushed against you, causing your breath to hitch in your throat, and your back to arch. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest before his fingers slipped under the elastic of the material as they began to pull your panties down.

Time wasn’t wasted. The clothing was gone quickly, his breath back on your slit in an instant. You could feel him, staring, admiring the view as you withered and waited in agonising anticipation.

You jumped and gasped as he spread your folds, opening you up to him, before his tongue ran along your slit. Slow, warm, purposeful. One long line that had your breath freeze in your chest.

Lips latched onto your clit, sucking, pulling. You moaned low. He let go, but only for a moment, before his teeth nipped at the bud. You cried out.

Reflexively, you reached out, your fingers gripping onto his hair. Pulling and tugging on him as his assault continued. He alternated, sucking, nipping, tugging, pulling. Your body sang, your cells screamed, your skin turned to fire. You were so uncomfortably hot and bothered, and you loved every second of it.

Fingers. Two of them. They rubbed at your entrance, warning, preparing you. He waited, feeling you tense at first. He wanted you to relax, enjoy, let him make your body buzz and rejoice in a way you now knew could only happen if you were on the receiving end of him. Of Dean Winchester.

A second, two, three.

His mouth moved from the bundle of nerves he’d worked up into a bundle of heat and need. “Breathe,” he ordered.

You sucked in a breath you didn’t realise you’d needed.

He pushed his fingers in. Two of them. All the way. Knuckle deep.

You cried out, back arching once more as his lips latched onto your clit, and his fingers crooked in a way that had them pressed right up against that spot you’d thought was a myth.

Pushed over the edge in that instant, your orgasm came crashing down. It wasn’t a wave, it was a tsunami. It wasn’t a storm, it was a tornado. It wasn’t a jump, it was a plunge off a cliff that had you screaming and withering like a madman who had finally found eternal bliss.

Dean waited. His fingers still inside you, stroking gently, making your oversensitive nerves twitch. His body climbed yours, lips running against your sweat slick skin as he brought himself up until he could tug on your earlobe.

His breath was laboured. He was panting, the warm air brushing against your neck in a way that had the heat under your skin burning once more.

“I’ve wanted to do that to you for years,” he admitted, his rough voice deeper and hoarser than usual. His lips brushed your jaw. “You’re so beautiful. Make the hottest sounds. Taste incredible.”

His mouth pressed against yours in a deep kiss. You moaned and melted as his tongue ran along yours, coating your mouth with a mixture of your own taste and his. Your first real kiss with him… unforgettable.

Slipping his fingers out from your core, he grabbed your thigh and wrapped it around him before pressing his groin against you. He was hard. You wouldn’t doubt it if he told you it was at a painful point. Even now you could feel how thick and long he was. You could feel his pulse as he ground his cock against your sensitive clit.

Tearing his lips from yours, he groaned. “Need you.”

Need. It goes full circle back to that need. The sexual tension. The pull and tug of unclaimed and untamed desire.

“Dean,” you mewed.

It all happened so fast. One moment he was pressed against you, grinding and groaning. Then he was gone.

Still blindfolded and out of breath, you laid there, waiting, listening, panting. You could hear the rustling of clothes. You could only assume he was ridding himself of his clothes. Just the thought had you whimpering and withering against the sheets.

When he came back down, his body pressed against yours. You could feel all the lines of his hot skin. You explored, running your hands along the heat and sweat, feeling every scar, every muscle, every inch of him.

He explored you as well. His hands gripped and grabbed at your soft flesh. They slid around and underneath you, removing your bra, freeing your breasts. His lips latched onto one nipple, his fingers tweaked the other.

You both arched into each other, your breath mingling as the exploring added to the fire burning between you.

Letting go of your nipple, his lips travelled up to suck at the junction where your neck and shoulder met. Meanwhile, his hand went lower, sliding against your skin until it grasped your thigh. This time, he didn’t wrap it around him. Instead he lifted it, pulled it up, stretched it until he could rest it on his shoulder.

Your nails dug into his back, your breath quickening as your body opened up to him.

A brush of his cock against your entrance had you gasping and arching. Without giving you a moment to mentally prepare, he thrust himself in.

You stretched wider than ever before. You felt fuller than ever before. A long and low groan pulled itself from your chest as your core wrapped around and hugged his cock as he buried it deep inside you.

His thrusts were long, slow, and hard. Each time he pulled out, almost all the way, your leg relaxed a little from where it still sat on his shoulder. Then he’d thrust, hips pushing, digging into yours, and your leg stretched once more, opening you up to him.

Over and over. Stroking every nerve that made you cry. Touching you in ways that left you moaning again and again. Bringing you closer and closer to the edge once more.

Somehow, he managed to adjust you both without stopping his movements. He shifted, moving your leg so it wrapped around his hips before pulling the other up to the other side. His knees pressed against you ass, the angle deeper as his thrust grew faster and even harder.

His fingers grabbed the edge of the blindfold, tugging it up and over your head.

At first you couldn’t see. Your eyes had to adjust to the sudden light. But the moment they did you were met with a sight that had your heart stop beating.

Green. So deep and dark and full of a storm of emotions. Emotions you’d never experienced firsthand. Emotions you only ever saw directed at other women. Lust. Want. Desire. Heat. Need. More. Softer emotions. Like admiration, trust… love.

Your hands slid down his arms, heading for his. He beat you to the punch, grabbing your hands and stretching them above your head as he intertwined your fingers with his. Bringing his head down to yours, your lips locked in a kiss so deep and passionate you weren’t sure you’d survive.

Thrusting against each other, the tension building, growing, stretching and pushing, you both broke at the same time.

Crying against Dean’s mouth as he groaned against yours, your fingers tightening on each other’s hands, you both reached the highest peck. You withered against him, he twitched inside you. Heat exploded from where you were connected as a stream of Dean filled you. The ripple of bliss reached your toes, curling them, and rose to your head, causing every nerve to spark with electricity.

Lifting himself up, pulling his hands from yours reluctantly, Dean used the last of his strength and energy to roll over before he collapsed and crushed you.

On his way, his arm snaked around your waist, dragging you along with him until you were both lying there. Legs tangled together. Back to his chest. Breaths laboured. Hearts pounding hard. He held you close, tight, his grip unbreakable.

“Dean…”

“Mm?” He pulled you closer and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Yeah?”

You grinned, tugging your lip between your teeth. “Do you trust me?”

There was a pause before he pushed himself against you with a groan, his hand wandering south. “Remind me to call Sammy and tell him to take the three days off.”

**Bamby**


End file.
